The recent judgment against Kashmiri leader Mtr. Asiya Andrabi is not merely a flawed legal decision—it is a window into a justice system that has lost its constitutional compass. In a ruling that reads like a masterclass in judicial contortionism, a special NIA court managed to acquit Andrabi of actual terrorism, financing militant groups, and formal membership in a banned organization, yet still sentenced her to years in prison for “conspiring” to commit the very crimes it couldn’t prove existed. This isn’t just a bad verdict; it’s a blueprint for criminalizing thought itself.
The judgment’s central absurdity is its Alice-in-Wonderland logic: one can be guilty of conspiring to commit a crime that never occurred, with an organization that was never legally declared terrorist, through evidence that the court itself admits is insufficient. This violates a principle so fundamental that it predates modern legal systems: you cannot hatch a criminal plot to do nothing. Conspiracy, by definition, requires an agreement to commit an unlawful act. Yet the court, having found no terrorist act, no financing, and no organizational membership, still managed to find a conspiracy lurking in speeches and interviews.
What makes this possible is the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act’s ( UAPA) deliberate vagueness. The judgment cleverly exploits a loophole: while Section 20 requires formal membership in a terrorist organization, Sections 38 and 39 criminalize “associating with” and “supporting” such groups—terms nowhere defined in law. What counts as association? Reading a pamphlet? Attending a rally? Expressing sympathy? The court doesn’t say, and that’s precisely the point. This ambiguity transforms constitutional protections into a legal minefield where citizens cannot know which actions might trigger criminal liability.
The prosecution’s case rested entirely on Andrabi’s words—speeches describing Kashmir as “under occupation,” praising militants, and calling for “resistance.” Traditional legal doctrine draws a clear line between protected advocacy and illegal incitement: only speech directed at producing imminent lawless action can be punished. This verdict erases that line entirely. By treating a “cumulative effect” of speeches as evidence of conspiracy, the court creates a dangerous new standard: say something controversial enough times, and your words magically become a criminal plot.
This is particularly alarming because the judgment openly confesses its own evidentiary bankruptcy. No witness testified to any specific terrorist act. No evidence linked Andrabi’s words to any violence. The court admits the evidence was “limited”—then uses that scarcity as reason to aggregate it, creating conviction by quantity rather than quality. This turns the burden of proof on its head. Instead of prosecutors proving guilt beyond reasonable doubt, Andrabi’s persistent dissent effectively proved her criminality.
The verdict also reveals how national security concerns cause judges to abandon their role as constitutional guardians. Indian courts have repeatedly warned that anti-terror laws must be read narrowly to prevent abuse. In Arup Bhuyan, the Supreme Court held that mere membership isn’t criminal. In Sri Indra Das, it insisted UAPA must pass constitutional muster. This judgment ignores those precedents, adopting a posture of deference that amounts to judicial abdication. Because the state labeled this a terror case, the court stretched the law to fit the prosecution’s narrative.
Perhaps most tellingly, the court later issued a correction order changing a “conviction” to an “acquittal” under Section 20—a “typographical error” in a high-profile case that suggests either shocking carelessness or a guilty conscience. If judges can’t keep track of what they’re convicting someone of, how can we trust the underlying reasoning?
The eight years Andrabi spent in pre-trial detention—made possible by UAPA’s near-impossible bail provisions—already served as punishment. The conviction merely formalizes what the process had already inflicted. This is the law working exactly as designed: not to prevent terrorism, but to isolate and silence ideological opponents through indefinite incarceration.
This case establishes a two-tier justice system. Real terrorism requires evidence of violence or financing. Speech-based “terrorism” requires only persistent dissent. The implications extend far beyond Kashmir. Today it’s a leade of political dissent tomorrow it could be a student activist, a journalist, or any citizen who consistently criticizes the government. The court has handed the state a powerful weapon: label any organization as terrorist, then criminalize anyone who expresses sympathy or even fails to condemn it forcefully enough.
The judgment makes a mockery of foundational principles. Nullum crimen, nulla poena sine lege—no crime without law—demands that penal statutes give clear notice of what’s prohibited. How could Andrabi know that speech the court admits isn’t directly linked to violence would constitute conspiracy? The principle of proportionality is shattered when speech receives the same punishment as actual terrorism. Most fundamentally, the court convicts without establishing that a substantive crime occurred—a basic requirement that protects against state overreach.
This isn’t just about one flawed verdict. It’s about a legal architecture that enables thought-policing. UAPA’s structure is designed for abuse: conspiracy requires no overt act, “association” criminalizes status rather than conduct, and bail is functionally impossible. The judgment uses these features to create a new category of speech-crime where you need not commit violence, finance it, or join a terrorist group—you need only speak persistently for your UN recognised rights in ways that make the state uncomfortable.
Until courts stop treating national security as a license for legal irrationality, such verdicts will continue eroding constitutional protections. The legal challenge ahead must target not just this judgment but UAPA’s constitutional validity itself. For if persistent ideological dissent is now conspiracy, we have replaced the rule of law with the rule of fear. And in that system, anyone who dares to think differently could be next.
